Winter Lessons
by EnoughToTemptMe
Summary: Clarke makes the mistake of telling a bunch of adolescents about the atomic-modern custom of Valentine's Day in her Atomic Earth Culture class. BellarkeFicWeek 2015 Prompt: Day 01 Valentine's Day AU. Part 1 of a series.


His day is going just fine, just _fine _until Clarke opens her big mouth.

With their people out of Mount Weather and the grounders safely returned to their own clan, the Sky People have been able to make a real home for themselves. Many Arkers (including Clarke's mother) remain at Camp Jaha, but more still have joined the remaining one hundred and their families in their new camp across the lake.

Tents have become semi-permanent structures which are slowly being replaced by permanent cabins. The _Trikru_ gifted them with enough furs to keep people from freezing to death during the worst of winter. They are finally able to stockpile food, now that the worst of winter is over and more animals are roaming the woods, and they have enough hunters to keep up with the demand of hundreds of mouths. To Bellamy Blake, all of these things mean progress, and seeing them unfold brings satisfaction to his soul.

To Clarke Griffin, all of these things mean progress, sure, but apparently progress isn't complete until an educational system is up and running, at least during the winter months when there isn't much else to do. This has resulted in the younger kids, and any adults who want to come, being subjected to daily lessons, different classes each day.

Bellamy would say they aren't so bad––there are classes on earth skills, mathematics, reading and writing, _Trigedasleng_ (he isn't sure how Octavia had convinced the warrior to deliver bi-weekly lectures to wide-eyed children), science.

Clarke teaches a class once a week on Atomic Earth Culture––it turns out her Oppenheimer quote wasn't just a one-off, and she has massive stores of information about what the world was like from the time of the first atomic bomb till the last that helped eradicate the earth.

All of that doesn't sound so bad, and Bellamy wouldn't mind this whole school situation (he doesn't want to end up surrounded by a bunch of imbeciles), except for one thing––Clarke's insisted that he teach Classics. Ancient mythology, art, architecture, history, literature––whatever he felt like teaching that week, Clarke had said with a smile, but he would be teaching it whether he liked it or not.

"We all have to contribute our knowledge," Clarke had said, and he hadn't bothered to keep from rolling his eyes.

"Stop," she had demanded, smacking his arm. "Education is important. Preserving what's left of earth culture is important."

"Yeah, yeah, princess," he had grumbled, and that was what Clarke claimed was an agreement to anyone who would listen.

He'd strong-armed his way through a lesson on the Greek myth of Persephone the day before (weirdly, the kids had seemed totally entranced, though maybe they were just sleeping with their eyes open), so today is _supposed _to be his day off.

But Clarke had taught her lesson earlier that morning. And she'd had to go and teach a bunch of preadolescents the atomic-modern custom of fucking _Valentine's Day. _

Nevermind that the significance of the original St. Valentine was completely distorted by the practice of Valentine's Day in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries––no, that's his domain, not Clarke's. Her only goal is to express what life was like on earth when it was entirely populated.

This is what she argues when he stomps up to her in the middle of the afternoon and demands to know why _four _different girls have had to be disciplined for fistfighting over fifth and sixth girls, and two boys have fallen out of trees trying to impress an unknown party, and he'd received hugs from five different girls and three boys ranging from eight to seventeen years of age––all in the name of St. Valentine.

"Honestly, I didn't know they'd react like that," Clarke says, biting her lip.

He glares at her. He can tell when she's trying not to laugh at him. (It happens more than he'd care to admit.)

"Did you have some other outcome in mind?" he demands. "Something _else _you might see happen if you tell the entire camp about goddamn Valentine's Day and that it would have been celebrated on today's date?"

"I didn't think it would be so bad," Clarke protests feebly. "It sounded like a nice practice––the sweets, and the flowers, and the cards, all to celebrate love."

"Yeah, sounds nice in theory," he says. "But in practice, we've got no flowers, because it's _winter, _and cards are a waste of paper, and the only sweet things they have access to are the weird fruits that grow in those trees over there."

"Hence the half a dozen children in the medbay," she sighs, and he nods.

"If all else fails, they try to impress each other," Bellamy adds. "But it's not ending too well when there are more than a couple kids involved. _And _the feel-good crap is spreading to the adults."

Clarke's shoulders slump. This makes Bellamy a little uncomfortable––he thinks the Valentine's Day move was a stupid one, but he doesn't really want to hurt Clarke's _feelings. _

So he scowls and admits, "When Fox hugged me and said 'Happy Valentine's Day,' she pinched my ass."

That startles a laugh out of Clarke, and her posture straightens a little.

"I guess I can't really blame her," she teases Bellamy, who grimaces in response.

"I doubt you'd be saying the same thing if _you _had been dealing with 'romantic' propositions all day long," he says.

"Who says I haven't been?" she says.

"Wait, what? Who?" Bellamy demands. "Who touched you?"

Clarke raises an eyebrow at him and he realizes he had begun to yell. He closes his mouth with an audible click.

"I can't really do anything about the Valentine's Day thing now," Clarke says, ignoring his embarrassment, "but I'll remember this fiasco for future lessons."

"You do that," he grumbles.

"I _am _sorry, Bellamy. It just sounded so _nice_ when I read about it in the Ark's history docs." Her voice is softer, a little wistful.

"It's alright," he says quietly, and offers her a small smile. "See you later?"

She nods. "Yeah, see you later."

* * *

The rest of the day passes mostly without incident, though Bellamy's outside the medbay when Clarke does treat a couple more split lips from fistfights.

("It's not attractive," he hears Clarke says sternly. From the sound of someone hissing, he can figure out that she's dabbing moonshine on the injured child's mouth without mercy. "Fighting to protect yourself is a valuable skill, but fighting to get someone else's attention is just embarrassing."

Her charges are shamefaced with bright red cheeks when they depart from the medbay, and he imagines that's the last either of them will need medical attention for fighting.)

They sit with _their _people at dinner; Clarke is to his left and they're surrounded by Miller and Jasper and Raven and Monty and Octavia and Lincoln and every other one of the remaining one hundred.

They've all heard about the Valentine's Day fiasco (Bellamy imagines it's Fox who's spread the word, if her smug expression and wink at him are anything to go by), and they waste no time teasing Clarke.

She's busy laughing and defending herself when Bellamy slips a small, slightly misshapen pomegranate into her hand. She glances at it in surprise, then at Bellamy.

"Thanks," she says, her tone questioning.

He shrugs and smiles a bit and holds out an even lumpier one of his own. "Got them from the cooks. They said they need to be eaten before they go bad."

She nods slowly, her fingers curling around the sweet fruit. Then something Octavia says draws her back into conversation, and she spends the rest of the evening laughing and cradling the pomegranate in her hands.

* * *

Before bed, Bellamy does a quick round through camp. At the gatherers' tent, Monroe is excited about the cyclamen plant she found earlier that day. Though it's hardy enough to bloom in winter, she explains, it's still hard to find, and its mutations over the last century of radiation have transformed it into a good cough remedy when brewed in a tea.

Bellamy congratulates her on her find and offers to take the carefully uprooted blooms to Clarke––she's the best one to deal with incoming medical inventory.

When he gets to Clarke's little cabin just across from his, though, she doesn't answer his knock. He pokes his head through the door and sees the room is empty but for Clarke's bedroll and her makeshift table.

Bellamy frowns, walks inside to deposit the flowers on her bed instead of the table. If she's out doing her own rounds, it's very possible that she'll just collapse into bed when she returns, and he wants her to notice the flowers so they don't die before she can see to them.

He digs in his pocket for a scrap of paper and finds one about half the size of his palm. Borrowing a pen from Clarke's table, he carefully scrawls an explanation on the dirty paper. At the end, he hesitates, then adds a "Sweet dreams, princess" to the note.

* * *

The next day at breakfast, he sees Clarke sitting with Raven, Octavia, and a few others.

"Hey," he says, approaching her. "Did you get my note?"

"Yeah, I got it. It was with the flowers," she says. "Thanks."

Raven snorts and Octavia claps a hand over her own mouth, trying to stifle a giggle.

He stares at them.

"What is going on with you?" he asks.

"What– _what's _going on with _us!_" Octavia chokes out, tears of mirth clouding her eyes. Raven starts laughing too, and pretty soon he's surrounded by a bunch of cackling idiots and a sheepishly smiling Clarke.

"What–?" he begins helplessly, looking at Clarke, but Murphy of all people interrupts him.

"Just give it up, man," he hears. Bellamy glares at Murphy.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Murphy rolls his eyes. "Come on, we're not blind. We all saw that pomegranate last night."

Bellamy's confused. Are they all jealous of the fruit he gave to Clarke? "The cooks only had two left," he says slowly, not understanding where this is going.

"Yeah, right!" Raven says in between laughs.

"The fruit," Murphy says. "And the flowers, and the note? Sounds like someone was paying attention in Atomic Earth Culture yesterday."

"Fruit?" Bellamy asks, bewildered. "Flowers, notes? What–"

And then he remembers. _It just sounded so nice, _Clarke had said in the sad little tone of voice that gets him in the gut every damn time. _Sweets, flowers, cards_.

"But," he hears himself sputter. "I didn't do it on purpose!" For some reason, this admission of coincidence made Clarke smile even brighter, and Octavia hits Raven on the arm.

"He didn't even do it on purpose!" Octavia gasps out.

"I know!" Raven wheezes.

"Well, if that isn't the sweetest damn thing I've ever heard," Murphy deadpans.

Bellamy turns to Clarke.

"Help," he says, "I'm lost."

She shook her head, her eyes crinkling with joy. "It doesn't matter, Bellamy. Just ignore them."

He nods dumbly as she stands up. He thinks she's about to head toward the medbay when she hesitates, looks up at him. Then she's standing on her tiptoes to brush a feather-light kiss across his jaw, which she can only barely reach. Bellamy just stands there, stunned.

"Thanks for the fruit, and the note, and the flowers," she whispers, then gives him one last smile before departing.

"What…" he says in shock.

"You dummy," Octavia says, her breathing and laughter finally back under control. "You seriously don't realize?" He shakes his head.

"Explain what just happened," he demands.

"Valentine's Day was a _holiday,_ you dweeb," she says, raising an eyebrow.

He motions for her to continue.

"Meaning that it's a day for special occasions," she adds. He stares at her blankly.

"What an adorable idiot," Raven comments. He ignores her and gestures again at Octavia.

His sister sighs.

"_Meaning_ that the expressions of love––you know, the sweets and the flowers and the cards––aren't normal everyday things. They're the kinds of nice things people would do because it was expected of them, or because it was a holiday."

"Okay," he says.

"But _you_, Bell," she says, rolling her eyes, "do all those things for Clarke even when it's just a normal day for you. You treat her with the kind of, shall we say, _affection_ on a daily basis that, centuries ago, was reserved for a special, over-the-top celebration of love."

"Oh," he says again, then, "_Oh._"

"Yeah," Octavia says smugly.

Bellamy Blake doesn't blush, okay, but it's pretty hot out for a winter morning, and that's why his cheeks are warm and red, _alright_?

"I'm leaving," he announces, and turns from the little group. He hears laughter erupt again as he walks away.

("He's a goner," he hears Murphy say just before he's out of earshot.)

He really _didn't _mean to do, you know, all that romantic crap for Clarke. It just happened to all work out on the same day. And if she liked it, so what? That's what partners do, Bellamy tells himself. They're good to each other.

All of these things are true. But that doesn't stop Bellamy from bringing back every flower he sees for Clarke, or from sharing the fruits he snags from the camp cooks. And if he knows that she keeps each of the little notes he leaves for her around camp, so what? And if he starts bringing little gifts to Clarke more often when she adopts the habit of giving him a kiss on the jaw for each one (the only place she can reach without him dipping his head)––why should that matter?

That's what they do, Bellamy thinks. It's who they are to each other.


End file.
